The Fall of Freaky Fred
by stareyed in LA
Summary: This is the story of the last human night of one Fred Foiles. It begins just after a rainstorm out on the streets of Seattle, just outside of a rave...


The rave hasn't even ended yet, but I was ready to go home. There was something about seeing those sweaty college students reeking of cheap perfume and booze, grinding hips to rear to the beat of a badly-put together remix of some crappy but popular rap song that just made me bored. And while I will admit to being a bit of a voyeur, and I have been since I was ten-year-olds and stuck in bed with a broken leg sustained from a go-kart accident, pulling a _Rear Window_on Mrs. Next Door and her affair with the young gardener from Cuba, tonight, I just wasn't into the mood to watch a bunch of strangers down warm beer from a keg and engage in the bizarre mating ritual that is free form dance.

I'm serious. I would rather be in the rat trap apartment that I share with my roommates Gerard and Tim and Tim's Floozy of the Week (Gerard's word, not mine), parked on the couch and watching reruns of _Mythbusters _while feasting on nuked pizza and trying to figure out the lethal combination of Pop Rocks and Coke. If I had been in a better mood, I would have enjoyed a round of people watching. And for the record, I have no plans on becoming a writer. I don't go people watching to develop characters or plot or anything. I just like watching the stupid things humans do. It's a hobby of mine. And it should also help to know right now that once I'm finished with community college; I want to become a high school chemistry teacher. Yeah, I'm a nerd. It started off with watching Bill Nye the Science Guy early on Saturday mornings before escalating to begging Mom and Dad for a chemistry set for Christmas and making small explosions in our basement. Growing up, I won first prize in every science fair I ever entered in grade school and got all 5's in my AP Chemistry and Physics classes. Wish I could say the same about the abysmal English and history grades that blocked me from getting into Seattle U though. That was the biggest epic fail of my life so far.

I stumbled outside of the warehouse where the rave is taking place, but almost slipped and landed on a puddle. It had stopped raining a few hours ago, but the inky streets of Seattle were still glistening from the recent storm. I caught a glimpse of my face, wide and distorted, against the shiny black paint of a nearby parked Kia. The only clue to give away my science-fuelled lifestyle is my wild blonde hair, which Gerard and Tim say reminds them of Doc Brown. My step-sister Laura once exclaimed that if I had a wider smile and opted for a life as a barber instead of a teacher, I would be the spitting image of Freaky Fred from this Cartoon Network show that she's obsessed with. It makes sense, since my name is Fred after all. Fred Foiles. It makes for a great mad scientist name. Professor Freaky Fred Foiles. Or simply Professor Freaky Fred. Or my personal favorite, Professor Freakazoid Fred. Gerard had to make that comic for his art class, maybe he can center it on my evil alter ego.

I reach into the pocket of my jeans and search for my cell phone. I have no idea what time it was, probably too late for the buses to be running. Instead of pulling out my phone to dial a taxi, all I find is a stiff piece of folded paper. I unfold it and throw it to the side walk. Earlier in the evening, some girl with parched, bleached blonde hair and who wearing so much eye makeup that she looks like a raccoon came up to me and pawing at me, choking me with her toxic perfume of liquor, weed, and peroxide. "Let's go back to my place and I'll show you a real good time," she purred. And to think the girls in high school called me repulsive! I wanted to leave her and fast! She wrote her number on a sheet of note book paper and slipped it into my pocket, whispering for me to call her. I don't plan on returning the favor though. She isn't my type. I like nerdy chicks with dark hair and glasses. And who are sober.

After digging through my jacket pockets, I find my cell phone and was about to dial for a cab when this guy approaches me from the foggy shadows. He's about the same height and age as me, but there was something that made me feel uneasy. For starters, his skin was too pale. And I was already a pretty pasty guy from spending most of my time indoors and playing World of Warcraft on my computer. Then there were his eyes. Those eyes didn't come in any normal shade like brown or blue. No, they were this bloody shade of red which glinted menacingly in the light of the street lamp like the villains from the comics I read as a kid. I had never seen colored contact lenses like them before, and I have seen my fair share courtesy of Halloween parties and comic book conventions. His face looked familiar; maybe I had seen it printed on the side of a milk carton or on a flier stapled to the side of a telephone pole at the community college. I can't remember.

"Hey, can I use your phone? I need to call my friend to pick me up," Red Eyes explains.

Then, the next thing I remembered was feeling this excruciating pain shoot up my arm, punctuated by a scream that I couldn't recognize as my own before falling to the ground and passing out. The last thing I saw before sinking into the fiery blackness was Red Eyes looming over me, blood dribbling down his chin and staining his lips like some sort of sick lipstick.

* * *

Author's Note: I wrote this story about two years ago, around the time _The Second Short Life of Bree Tanner_ was released, in response to the fact that there were so few fanfics about Freaky Fred. I only found this languishing on my computer recently and decided to publish it on to see how others will respond to it. Reviews are more than welcome. I apologize for it being so short. I hope you enjoyed reading it as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
